Women of Pemberley (8 page)

At Ashford Park, Emma and her daughters settled in as if they were never going back. Her parents were delighted to have her home in time for Christmas. Other members of the family who called to see her were happy to find her looking so well, for indeed, Emma had recovered her spirits remarkably since her return to Leicestershire.

Apart from the few who were aware of the crisis she had been through, none guessed the true reason for her flight from London.
Despite her continuing anxiety, Emma found it easy to immerse herself in the traditional preparations for Christmas at her parents' home, where the warmth and affection that surrounded them gave her a welcome sense of security. Like her mother, she seemed content to enjoy her present situation.
Unfortunately, reality could not be denied.
It was less than a month to Christmas when Jonathan arrived bearing the news. David Wilson was dead. He had shot himself.
The shocking news had taken some time to reach them because Parliament was not sitting and the weather had been dreadful, making communication difficult, he said. It seemed Wilson had been unable or unwilling to face the scandal of exposure that was certain to engulf him as soon as Parliament returned.
A short note to his mother asking her forgiveness and apologising to his wife, his brother, and his daughters for "letting them down" was all he had left, apart from a load of debt to be discharged by his unhappy family.
Jonathan, as his brother-in-law, had accompanied James Wilson to the formal inquiry into the death and was able to report that there had been no suspicion whatsoever of foul play. "He had taken dinner and retired to his room with a bottle of wine, around midnight. He did not usually rise early, so there was no alarm raised when he did not appear at breakfast.
"However, when the chamber maid had drawn the housekeeper's attention to the fact that she had not been able to clean the room all day, suspicions were aroused and the door forced open," he explained.
Jane and Elizabeth were amazed at the calmness with which Emma received the news.
No one who had not known the extent of her suffering, in what had become a loveless and often frightening marriage, would have understood her response. She appeared to feel nothing but relief, saying little except to express her sympathy for Mrs Wilson and James, who she knew would bear the brunt of public exposure. Her own feelings had been numbed by years of abuse and indifference.
There were no tears, except when she had to tell the children of their papa's death, and no deep mourning except as a formality and in deference to her mother-in-law.
Conscious, however, of her duty, she set out immediately, with her parents and Jonathan for London, where she went directly to the house in Mayfair.
She conducted herself with grace and decorum at the funeral and afterwards was determined to repay the kindness of her mother-in-law by being there to support her at what was surely a time of great distress. In all this, she was assisted by her brother Jonathan and by James Wilson, who could not help but admire her courage and sensitivity.
His mother, to whom he had explained in painful detail that her son had treated his wife very ill indeed, had been horrified to learn of her problems. When Emma had arrived at the house to prepare for the funeral, Mrs Wilson had wept as she apologised for David's behaviour, but the generosity of Emma's response had surprised them both.
She stayed with them a fortnight, helped James sort out David's personal papers, and sat with his mother when she had the inevitable callers, who were not always as sensitive as one might have hoped.
Mrs Wilson was most grateful for her support, and James greatly appreciated her kindness to his mother. "I cannot thank you enough, Emma, for your concern and care for my mother. It was not expected of you, considering the circumstances," he said as they sat together after dinner on her last evening.
Her reply was charity itself. "What injury have I to complain of from any action of my mother-in-law? She has been kind and generous at all times to me and the children. That she had no knowledge of our difficulties was my choice--I had not wished to cause further discord in our family than already existed. I had accepted David in good faith and discovered too late that it was a terrible mistake; what justice would there be in attaching blame to his mother? None, surely."
While he could not argue with what she said, he marvelled at her magnanimity. It was a rare quality and a precious one.
When it was time to return to Ashford Park, James Wilson insisted upon taking her home himself. The journey turned out to be pleasanter than either of them had expected. With only her personal maid, Sally, for company, it could have been dull indeed. But in fact, it was quite the reverse.
They broke journey at Cambridge, where he proudly showed her around his old college, and they rose early on the morrow in order to make good time.
Free of bitterness and awkwardness, no longer hobbled by guilt through association, James was an excellent companion. They talked of many shared interests, chief among them reading and music, which they both loved.
"I suppose you will resume your singing lessons soon," said James, to which she replied with a smile that she would need a great deal of practice to master the lessons she had already learnt before venturing into fresh fields.
"I shall, however, be sending Victoria and Stephanie for singing lessons in the New Year," she declared with a smile.
"I'm very glad to hear it. Mother will be especially pleased. Shall we hear them sing when you are next with us?" he asked.
"You certainly shall," she promised, knowing Mrs Wilson would hope to see the children again soon, "but not in London, I hope."
He was quick to respond, "We expect to move to Kent, very soon."
"That is excellent news," she said and her smile confirmed she was delighted to hear it.
They reached Ashford Park by early afternoon.
"I felt I had to bring her home to you myself," he said as he left her with her parents, promising once again to keep in touch but knowing that it would be a while before Emma would visit them again.
The Bingleys, in their usual hospitable way, urged him to stay; but this time, James wanted to return as soon as possible to his mother, whose health had worsened since David's death.
That he was a dutiful and considerate son had been noted and only served to enhance James Wilson's reputation among the Bingleys and their friends.
As Emma said her farewells, she reminded James of his promise of a visit to Canterbury in the Spring.
"Indeed, I have not forgotten, Emma," he said, plainly pleased that she had remembered. "It is not at all far from Standish Park, and Canterbury is at its best in May."
"Then I shall certainly look forward to seeing it," she said as she smiled and gave him her hand.
With the kindest wishes, greetings, and salutations from them all, he was gone, leaving only the best of impressions upon a family that a few weeks earlier had been devastated by the news of his brother's infamy.

Christmas was, of necessity, a quiet one at Ashford Park this year. Except to attend church with the family, Emma did little more than help her mother with traditional household activities and keep her daughters occupied. Her younger sisters were very excited about attending the usual Christmas Eve celebrations for the children of the Pemberley estate, and so were Victoria and Stephanie.
Emma had asked to be excused, but she was happy to attend a quiet family gathering at the Gardiners, where she met with her cousin Cassandra and her husband Richard Gardiner for the first time since her own husband's death.
Richard and Cassy had been away in Europe when it had happened, but being well informed of the circumstances by their respective parents and sufficiently aware of the pain it may have caused Emma and her children, they showed admirable sensitivity. Cassandra embraced her cousin and whispered her sympathy and understanding. As girls together, they had been close, though not perhaps as intimate as their mothers, Jane and Elizabeth, had been.
Cassandra, happily married for several years, had always regarded her beautiful cousin Emma as an extraordinarily fortunate young woman. Learning the truth about her wretched marriage and the catastrophic events of the last month had shocked and saddened her. Unable to do more than offer sympathy, Cassy was glad when her husband spoke more seriously to their cousin.
Emma knew Richard less well--with his studies and busy working life, they had not met often, especially since their marriages had taken them into very different circles.
She had, however, heard nothing but excellent reports of his character and professional skills. She was not surprised when he approached her and, while making no attempt to pry, asked gently if she and her children were well--offering his help, if there was anything he could do.
"You must feel free to call on me, Emma," he said and exploded in a great laugh when she responded gratefully, calling him Doctor Gardiner and thanking him for his kind offer of help.
"And my very first piece of advice to you would be to call me Richard. Come Emma, we are cousins, and I certainly do not stand on ceremony, so you must not. I should like to think that you would call on me without hesitation."
Emma smiled and assured him that she would.
Later, at dinner, Richard was serious again, telling the family of the chaotic situation in Europe. "We were exceedingly glad to be leaving. There is no knowing when the whole place will erupt in rebellion," he said, his countenance darkening. "In the low countries, crops have failed, food is scarce, and many villages are close to famine, while in the towns, there is so little work that skilled craftsmen beg for odd jobs so they may feed their families. Everywhere, everyone predicts revolution because governments seem incapable of doing anything to alleviate the misery of their people. If the famine spreads, there is no doubt at all that there will be civil unrest," he warned.
"Speaking of famine," Mr Darcy intervened, "we have had letters from Huw Jenkins and Kitty, who have been in Ireland working to help the poor. They speak of dreadful poverty and suffering as a result of the failure of the Irish potato crop."
"What is worse," added Mr Gardiner, "successive British governments have done very little to help the poor farmers. Starvation is rife, and women and children are dying while men are wandering the lands in search of work or food."
Emma had heard nothing of this, being closeted away in Kent or Mayfair, where Ireland had barely received any attention.
"Is this true?" she asked Emily, who was sitting next to her, and the reply shocked her deeply.
"Indeed it is," said Emily, and reaching into her reticule, she produced a letter received just two days ago from Kitty, in which she begged them to keep her two children for a few more days, for she could not possibly leave the work she was doing.
Dearest Emily,
she wrote:
It is not possible for me to leave, to turn away from the pleading eyes of starving children and the begging hands of women wanting food not for themselves, emaciated though they are, but for their dying children.

Mr Darcy and Lizzie always send us a generous hamper for Christmas. Huw and I feel we would like to donate it, together with our gifts to the Irish poor. It is the very least we can do.

I am so ashamed to think that we lived our lives so comfortably, unaware of the misery and suffering of our neighbours across a narrow stretch of water.

Reading Kitty's letter, Emma felt tears flood her eyes.
Emily was explaining how Kitty and her husband had gone to Ireland with their two elder children, Anne and Maria, to work with a charitable church group, leaving their two boys with the Courtneys.
"They have set up two soup kitchens, a creche for orphans, and are trying to provide some basic medical care for the sick. But they are being overwhelmed and just cannot cope."
Returning Kitty's letter, Emma pleaded, "I want to do something to help, Emily, anything useful. I feel as if I have spent so much of my life in ignorance. Please let me help."
There was no doubting her sincerity, and Emily accepted her offer with alacrity, inviting her to join their group. Caroline Fitzwilliam, Becky Tate, Cassy Gardiner, and Emily Courtney had started working to help the poor many years ago, when the farm folk of the Midlands had been thrown onto the streets by the bailiffs as landlords enclosed their small farms and took over their cottages.
They had continued their good work with the active assistance of the Darcys, Sir Thomas Camden, and the Gardiners, whose help had been invaluable in collecting and distributing food and clothing to the needy.
Emma was enthusiastic; she wanted to start immediately, promising to get her parents to help as well. "I know Mama will want to help," she declared, "and Papa knows many businessmen, who may be persuaded to donate money."
Emily was delighted. "Well Emma, if you will come along to our meeting at the Kympton Church Hall on Friday, I promise we shall have plenty for you to do."
Emma had always admired Emily Gardiner, an intelligent and independent young woman who had shown extraordinary courage in the face of sorrow when she had lost her first husband--courage that had proved an inspiration to others in the family.
Since her own marriage to David Wilson had taken her to London, Emma had had less contact with many of those she had known at Pemberley. She had missed both Caroline and Emily. Now, life had brought them together again, and she rejoiced at the chance to help Emily and her group of friends in the work they were doing for the victims of the Irish famine.
Back at the rectory in Kympton, Emily mentioned her cousin's enthusiasm to her husband, James Courtney.
He had, as usual, a simple and clear explanation. "I am not surprised, my dear. Often in great sorrow, we are faced with two choices: to turn inward in bitter recrimination, blaming the world for our misfortune or turn outward and do whatever we can to help others less fortunate than ourselves. Clearly, Mrs Wilson has chosen the latter path; it is far more likely to bring her satisfaction and peace."
Emily smiled as he added, "And I know you will help and inspire her."
His recognition of Emily's greatness of heart and her appreciation of his simple goodness had led to their unexpected but happy union. She had surprised her family when, after losing her beloved Paul and immersing herself in charitable work for years--during which she had showed no interest in marriage--she had suddenly accepted the popular Rector of Kympton. Since poverty posed no problem for Emily, who was very well provided for by her father and her first husband, it was clearly his sense of moral purpose that she appreciated.
On the journey home, as her parents and sisters chatted together, Emma was quiet, wrapped in her own thoughts. It seemed to Emma that her cousin Emily had never been as contented as she was now. Her mother, sensitive to her daughter's reflective mood, left her alone.
Over the next few weeks, they worked incessantly, collecting donations of food, clothing, and money from households, shops, and textile mills, all of which were sent over to Ireland for distribution by Kitty's group of charitable friends.
Emma, who had never worked so hard in her life, found it extremely rewarding--keeping her from dwelling inordinately on her own situation.
While she knew she was welcome to stay with her parents at Ashford Park, she was well aware that her younger sisters were growing up. She had wondered whether she should seek employment as a teacher at the Kympton parish school. Her own excellent education would surely stand her in good stead. Her opinions on the subject were far from settled however, and she determined to seek Emily's advice.
Returning to Ashford Park on a wet Saturday afternoon, she had changed and was coming downstairs when the door bell rang.
As she reached the front hall, she was surprised to see James Wilson surrendering his coat and hat to the servant. Emma was delighted and greeted him warmly.
He in turn expressed great pleasure at seeing her looking so well. "I can see that you are well, and I have no doubt you are also happy," he said as they went into the sitting room, where afternoon tea would soon be served.
Victoria and Stephanie were highly excited to see their uncle. He was always a favourite with them, now even more so when a servant followed him bearing a large box of toys and books.
"Christmas gifts," said James, "from my mother and myself. Alas, delivered too late, I do apologise," and while the girls fell upon the unexpected treasure trove with glee, he produced a small package for Emma, adding quietly, "This is also from my mother and myself, for you, Emma."
Urged by Louisa and Sophie, Emma opened it to reveal an elegant brooch of gold with tiny pearls. She was overwhelmed. That it was a piece of family jewellery, there was no doubt.
Though her mother and sisters were full of praise for its beauty, Emma could not speak for a while, so surprised and delighted was she by the unexpected gesture. Later, she thanked him profusely, promising to write a note which he must take to his mother--a task he agreed to carry out with the greatest pleasure.
"My mother has long wanted to give you some of her jewellery, but she said it never seemed to be the right time. Well, it seems this was just the right time. I am delighted that you are pleased with it," he said.
Emma tried to discover whether he had any part in choosing the particular piece, but she was disappointed by his reticence and the lack of an opportunity to pursue the matter by subtle means. Despite the ease of their companionship, she was unwilling to question him directly.
By the time the children had opened up their gifts and exclaimed with pleasure at each and every one, it was late evening and quite dark.
Jane had assumed that James would be staying to dinner, an assumption confirmed by her husband, who insisted that of course he was staying and not just to dinner but for whatever period he wished to stay in the district. Bingley had already ordered that his trunk and bag be brought indoors.
"Really James, you cannot want to go back and forth in sleet and rain," he declared, and so it was settled without argument that he should stay.
James was not averse to the idea. The family was clearly happy to see him and so was Emma. He found their company congenial, and the liveliness and warmth of the Bingleys' home was especially comforting after long, depressing days in London arranging the disposal and settlement of his brother's affairs.
When they went in to dinner, Jane naturally assumed that James would sit beside Emma. As they talked, he told her that since he had last seen her, they had all moved to Standish Park in Kent, where he expected his mother would remain permanently.
"What will you do with the house in Mayfair?" Emma asked.
James admitted he had not decided but added it was too large for him, "I shall probably use it far too infrequently to warrant maintaining a complete household there. If I receive a good offer, I may sell; if not, it will be leased. There are many affluent businessmen who could find it suitable-- more so than I would."
Turning to Emma, he said, "You would not miss it, would you Emma? I gather you never liked the place."
Surprised that he knew of her aversion to the house, she confessed that she did not really care for it. "But where would you live in London?" she asked.
James confessed that he had not made any arrangements yet but would probably lease a smaller place closer to Westminster. "Since I intend to spend most of my time in Kent when Parliament is not sitting, I do not think I shall miss it either," he said.
Changing the subject, he was keen to remind her of their plans to visit Canterbury and extract from her a promise to come down to Kent in Spring.
Emma was equally determined to tell him of her concerns about the Irish famine. "When you arrived today, I had just returned from Kympton, having spent some time with my cousin, Emily Courtney, the rector's wife," she said. "We have been working very hard collecting donations of food, clothing, and money for the victims of the Irish famine. I am sorry that our government has done very little or nothing to help."
James, touched by her intensity of purpose and concerned at the stories she related was very surprised. "Emma, I cannot believe that the government has done nothing, I shall make enquiries when I am back in London and write to you," he said earnestly. It was the first time he had seen her so deeply concerned and ready to be involved in anything outside of her immediate family.
Sunday, being cold, was spent mostly indoors, where they made music and played card games with the children to keep themselves occupied after walking briskly to church and back.
Emma took the opportunity to acquaint James with more tragic tales from Ireland, using Kitty's letters as evidence, leaving him greatly disturbed. Before leaving, James promised again to send news of the government's work in Ireland.
The Bingleys bade him farewell, at the same time inviting him to return and stay with them whenever he was in the area. "You must not wait for an invitation, Mr Wilson," said Jane. "As you can see, we have plenty of room-- and you are always welcome."
He thanked them profusely and, before he went, bade farewell to Emma and the children, reminding them that they were expected at Standish Park in Spring.
The following day, Emily and Caroline called to take Emma on another round of what Sophie had called "begging visits."
Aided by Rebecca Tate's articles in
The Review
and
The Courier
, a good deal of attention had been drawn to the cause of the suffering poor of Ireland. Church congregations and workers' clubs had started to collect food and clothing, while some businessmen were even willing to donate money. So successful were they that a further consignment of goods and donations of money were ready to go within the month.
Returning from visiting the Courtneys some days later, Emma was greeted by her sisters with the news that an express had come for her from London. It was from James Wilson.
He thanked her and her parents for their generous hospitality and sent regards from his mother. But chiefly, the letter contained information on the topic that had troubled her so much.
He wrote: